


Just Want My Lips To Taste Of You

by fridaysblues (taemin)



Series: DJ Chanyeol AU [2]
Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-17
Updated: 2013-12-17
Packaged: 2018-03-07 10:22:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,845
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3171329
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/taemin/pseuds/fridaysblues
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jongin says <i>I love you</i> for the first time and Chanyeol's having a hard time keeping his identity under wraps.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just Want My Lips To Taste Of You

**Author's Note:**

> For Ang :")

Jongin finds Chanyeol sprawled face-down on the grass, pencil still in his hand. Fast asleep, face pillowed by his speech pathology textbook. Jongin prods him with the toe of his sneaker a few times, just to see if he'll wake up. When that doesn't work, he lowers himself without hesitation into the dip of Chanyeol's back and grins with delight when Chanyeol lets out a soft wail and rubs the sleep from his eyes.

"What the hell," he mumbles, voice croaking. He sees it's Jongin and looks like he wants to smile but can't quite work up to it yet. "What do you want. I'm studying."

"Don't lie. You were asleep. We're going out tonight," Jongin says, patting Chanyeol's shoulders encouragingly. "Me and Taemin and some of the others. You should too."

Chanyeol yawns. "Can't." He rolls over onto his side which dislodges Jongin from his perch. Jongin lands on the grass with a soft grunt, laughing even though Chanyeol's face is still puckered sour from exhaustion.

"Midterms are next week, you can take a night off," Jongin says.

"This is why you're getting C's," Chanyeol warns him. He yawns then, palm smothering it into a soft breathing noise. "No, I'm spinning tonight. Wednesday, remember? And no—I'm not putting you guys on the list. Line up like everyone else."

Jongin leans in real close then, until Chanyeol's breath huffs on his face. "You act like my ass doesn't get me bumped to the front of the line with no help from you," he murmurs, about to close the gap. Chanyeol pushes him away but follows, pouncing, hands braced on either side of Jongin's head.

"Oh really?" he rumbles, mouth hot on Jongin's neck—his throat—the dip of his collarbone. Jongin thrashes underneath him, too ticklish to submit to this kind of attention in public. Too many people on the quad watching—the public displays of affection have always been Chanyeol's thing, not Jongin's. He prefers to keep it away from prying eyes—abandoned classrooms, their apartments, maybe in the booth at the club when Jongin's had a few and is feeling especially brave. Chanyeol's got him pinned by the knees, though, and has enough height and weight on Jongin that it's not even really a competition, it's more of a mauling.

"Stop—stop—stop," Jongin wheezes, voice tight with laughter. "I'm kidding—I swear—I've never—the bouncer at Dragonfly is like forty, that's so gross—"

Chanyeol relents and sits up, brushing a last kiss on the tip of Jongin's nose before returning back to his books. "I'll see you later, then?" he asks, flipping back a few pages in his textbook.

"Count on it," Jongin says, swatting Chanyeol's ass with an open palm as he gets to his feet. "Have fun studying, hyung."

Chanyeol makes a sound that's a lot like dying.

 

Chanyeol finishes his set at a little after one and comes out onto the dance floor, cautiously, to find Jongin. He doesn't like sticking around—too worried he's going to run into someone who knows his father, who's going to report back to the him and ruin _everything_ , because there's no way his father would allow him to continue with this if he knew.

Jongin's half-a-dozen drinks deep and grinding in between Taemin and Zitao when Chanyeol pulls him away by the wrist and kisses him so hard Taemin starts clapping and whooping.

"Sounded good tonight," Jongin breathes, trying to bounce up on his toes for another kiss but Chanyeol's holding him down by the shoulders, reeling him in under his arms like he's packing Jongin up to take him home.

"That last one—Chanyeol, it was so good," Taemin says enthusiastically, shaking his sweaty hair out of his eyes. "You've gotta put out a CD. People would buy it."

"It's just a hobby," Chanyeol says, looking down at his feet. The club's bathed in neon lights but Jongin knows he's blushing and reaches up to pinch his cheek, right where it dimples.

"He's so modest."

"Take him home, will you?" Zitao says to Chanyeol, ruffling Jongin's hair with his fingertips. "Last time he came home like this I found him asleep in the middle of the living room with his pants around his ankles."

"I was planning on it," Chanyeol says. Taemin starts hooting again and Chanyeol, as deadpan as Jongin's ever seen him, turns to say, "What? You think I'm dating him because he's cute? I needed _someone_ to carry my stuff."

"Shut up, you love me," Jongin slurs, and then freezes. Chanyeol's just as tense underneath him. They've never actually exchanged that particular sentiment, and it seems wrong to do it for the first time drunk and in front of his friends. "Okay, okay," he says quickly, trying to ignore the shell-shocked look on Taemin and Zitao's faces. "Let's go."

 

They don't bring it up again, not even after they're lying in Chanyeol's bed. Jongin's still riding a comfortable buzz from all the alcohol and Chanyeol's just so fucking _good_ at sucking cock, so he's not going to ruin a good thing by talking about this shit now. It can wait until later. Chanyeol digs his fingers into Jongin's hips and the muscles of his throat work against the tip of Jongin's dick until Jongin comes with a loud shuddering gasp, pulling at Chanyeol's hair like he'll float away if he doesn't hold onto something to stay grounded.

 

"Hey," Taemin says the next day, sliding into the seat next to Jongin's. "I need a huge favor—wow, you look like shit, how much did you sleep?"

Jongin looks up from the coffee he's been nursing for the past hour and a half and shrugs. "Couple hours. Chanyeol—"

"—I don't wanna know—"

"—got up early to _study_ , you jackass," Jongin says, taking another swig of coffee. "He actually takes this student thing seriously. What is it?"

Taemin pauses in the middle of digging around in his backpack for a notebook. "What's what?"

"The _favor_ ," Jongin snaps impatiently. "How late were _you_ up last night?"

The lecture hall buzzes loudly with the chatter of a thousand conversations going on at once. The professor's leaning against the dry erase board at the front of the hall, peering up at the back row as students filter in, slouching, trying to find a seat that isn't at the front.

"Oh. Right. Can I borrow your iPod? I've got to go to the studio after this and I forgot to charge mine last night." He holds it up, screen black, to underscore his point. "C'mon, Jongin... don't make me use the shitty CDs they've got there. If I have to dance to Enya one more time, I will die." He clutches at his chest and winces.

Jongin rolls his eyes. Dance majors. Always so fucking _dramatic_.

"Please take a seat," the professor calls over the noise. "We've got a lot to cover today before next week's exam."

"Please," Taemin begs in a loud whisper, lower lip pushed out. His eyes light up when Jongin pushes his iPod into Taemin's lap with a frustrated groan. "You're the best, Jongin," he coos.

Jongin slaps at Taemin's hand hard enough that the smack resonates around the lecture hall. The professor looks up for the source of the sound and Jongin has to pinch Taemin under the desks in order to stop him from toppling out of the chair with his silent laughter.

 

Chanyeol's waiting for him when he gets out of class, digging a toe into a sidewalk crack, big hands curled around the straps of his backpack. He looks up when he hears Jongin's footsteps, like he just _knows_ him just by his tread, the scuff of his heels against the pavement.

"Hey." He grins. Jongin squints up at him. Obediently, Chanyeol sidesteps to block out the sun.

"What's up? Don't you have class right now?"

A row of perfect, Cheshire cat teeth, gleaming. "No. And neither do you."

"This isn't very responsible," Jongin teases. "What was that about getting C's?"

"Live a little," Chanyeol says. He sounds upbeat—cheerful, even, like he hasn't been killing himself over his midterms.

Jongin lets himself follow along, lets them pretend that it's all Chanyeol's idea to go back to his place, that he's _not_ missing a class he really shouldn't because it's Chanyeol and his hand is very warm. Chanyeol leans in at the threshold to kiss him breathless while he fumbles with the key in the lock.

"Just open it," Jongin says through his laughter, pushing Chanyeol away. "We'll be out here all day."

"I can work with that." Chanyeol shoulders open the door, eyebrows wiggling.

They end up in bed—like they always do when Jongin gets restless and insists on ditching responsibilities, Chanyeol's hands pushing Jongin's shirt up over his head.

Chanyeol's bed is so comfortable. Jongin closes his eyes and just kisses him until his lips go numb, everything warm and fuzzy from the afternoon sun beating in through the window and the repetitive stroke of Chanyeol's fingers up and down the terrace of Jongin's ribs before they settle with a heavy calm on the snap of his jeans.

Jongin tips his head back and closes his eyes.

"I do, you know," Chanyeol says, mostly into Jongin's navel. His voice is deep and smooth, throat rumbling against the soft skin of Jongin's stomach.

"You do what?" Jongin asks, canting his hips just slightly, just enough to encourage Chanyeol to continue. The front of his jeans are painfully tight with this burgeoning erection Chanyeol's coaxing out of him and he's a little too far gone to be focused on whatever Chanyeol's saying. He doesn't really want to have a conversation at this precise moment.

"Love you."

Jongin freezes again. "I—what?" He'd completely forgotten about his slip-up last night but now he's in full rigor mortis, waiting for Chanyeol to laugh and say he's just kidding but he's staring up at Jongin from the vicinity of Jongin's crotch with this intense _gaze_ and Jongin just—wasn't expecting it to go like this. "Oh," he says, voice breathy. "Oh—wow, I. Okay."

"It's okay, I'm—" Chanyeol breaks the eye contact first, his ears burning red. "Sorry, I know you kind of freaked out last night, I shouldn't have said—"

"No—I—you're just—I wasn't expecting you to say it—you know—" Jongin regains control of his muscles and gestures at Chanyeol's position, the way his arm's wrapped around Jongin's waist, holding him against the bed. Chanyeol chuckles and eases up, sits back on his knees and offers Jongin a shy smile.

"I'm sorry—I just kept thinking about it all morning—and I know you were pretty drunk last night, but. I don't know. You tend to be pretty straightforward and alcohol only... I don't know, magnifies it, so I figured..." he trails off and rubs the back of his neck sheepishly.

Jongin sits up and pulls Chanyeol in by the jaw. He kisses Chanyeol so fiercely he makes a loses his balance and topples over, pulling Jongin down with him.

"Me too," Jongin says into when his face is smashed up against Chanyeol's, too overwhelmed to look him in the eye right at that moment. "I love you too."

 

Midterms come and go. Chanyeol does well—of course—and Jongin scrapes by. At least, he thinks he scrapes by. Three weeks or so later finds Jongin with his hands over his face, flopping in Chanyeol's lap right over the textbook he's reading. They're on the quad again, grass scratchy on Jongin's bare legs as he curls into Chanyeol and moans.

"You alright?" Chanyeol asks, surprised. "You're not getting sick, are you? What's wrong?"

"Buy me ice cream," Jongin whines. "Just got the grades back for our anatomy midterm and I totally bombed it."

"You should've studied more." Chanyeol rakes his fingers through Jongin's hair to try and soften the impact of his words.

"I'm more of a hands-on learner."

Chanyeol snorts loudly and bends over to kiss Jongin's cheek. "That feels like an insult. Haven't I taught you anything useful?"

Jongin blushes and buries his face against Chanyeol's textbook. "I'm having a crisis and you're making fun of me."

"Only a little bit." Chanyeol nudges Jongin back into a seated position. The conversations around them lull or maybe that's just Jongin imagining things again when Chanyeol thumbs at his chin and offers him a sympathetic sort of half-smile. "It'll be okay. Pull it together for the final, okay? I'll help you—" he breaks off and tips his head to the side, face creasing into an angry frown.

"What—oh." Jongin hears it a moment after Chanyeol does and it feels like the blood's been drained from his body. The familiar bass line accelerating into the first hook, the layered countermelody ripped from the soundtrack of that recently popular drama. Chanyeol's mix.The new one.

"What—the _fuck_ ," Chanyeol mutters quietly, and it's obvious he's trying to stay cool as he looks around the union, trying to see where the fuck it's coming from so he can just _stop it._ "How is that even _possible_?"

Jongin sees him then: Taemin, at the head of a group of dancers pushing through the courtyard, oversized stereo on his shoulder like he's a relic from twenty years ago when boomboxes were a thing. A fucking flash mob to advertise the spring show: the dance studio's usual M.O., although the timing couldn't be worse. Jongin sees an iPod mounted in the speakers—his iPod, _Taemin, you little shit_ —and puts his face in his hands, praying to spontaneously combust at that very moment just so he doesn't have to deal with Chanyeol's simmering anger.

"Fuck," Chanyeol says. "It's Taemin. How did he—Jongin?"

"I may have let him borrow my iPod a couple weeks ago," Jongin says to his fingertips, unable to look Chanyeol in the eye. "I'm so fucking sorry, I forgot he had it."

Taemin's in the middle of something that looks vaguely like the Dougie when Chanyeol gets to his feet and gathers his books.

"Chanyeol—"

"Yeah, it's—whatever, don't worry," Chanyeol says, lips so tight they're bloodless and pale. "Just Taemin being Taemin again."

"Hyung—"

"I'm late, Jongin. I'll see you after class."

Chanyeol doesn't even kiss him goodbye and Jongin feels his heart sinking all the way to the soles of his feet.

 

Jongin meets Taemin later, back at the dance studio. He waits outside the locker room for him to finish changing, shifting his weight from his left foot to his right and chewing his lower lip so anxiously he knows it's liable to bleed if he keeps at it, but he just can't _stop_ when Chanyeol isn't responding to any of the dozen text messages he's sent over the past few hours.

Finally, Taemin emerges—flushed and sweaty, sweatshirt half-zipped and hanging off a bare shoulder. "Jongin!" he crows, high on endorphins. "I saw you at the courtyard. Like it?" he does a few steps of the dance before Jongin stops him by the wrists.

"You used Chanyeol's song."

"Oh. Yeah," Taemin says, face blank. "I—I gave him credit, Jongin, it's okay."

"It's _not_ okay—he doesn't want—it's _just not okay._ " Jongin grits his teeth. "Chanyeol's dad works here, in the math department. He doesn't approve of—he's just not supposed to know. Okay? Or it stops."

"But he plays this stuff at the club," Taemin says slowly. To his credit, he looks pretty guilty about the whole thing. His trademark shit-eating grin is nowhere to be seen. He looks worried, almost—Jongin's never seen that particular expression on Lee Taemin's face before, so he can't be sure.

"It's a small school, everybody knows everybody's business. He doesn't like physical copies of his stuff. I don't—he doesn't even like that _I_ have them, and he's sure as hell not going to trust me again after this." Jongin lowers his voice. "Come on, Taemin, you knew this was a big deal. I've told you. Why didn't you just ask first?"

"I'm sorry, okay?" Taemin says, a little hoarse. "It's done, though. What do you want me to do about it now?"

"You make it right," Jongin says, pinching the bridge of his nose. "You can't use that song for the recital. Get every copy of the CD you burned and give it back to Chanyeol. And apologize."

Taemin looks behind him at the locker room door and nods like he's been given a quest.

Jongin doesn't wait to watch him go back inside; he's too busy sending Chanyeol another text message: _I'm coming over. Leave the door unlocked._

 

He's surprised to find the door actually _is_ unlocked when he shows up at Chanyeol's with two pints of ice cream melting in his backpack. He twists the knob—pushes the door open—and there's Chanyeol, sitting on the floor of his living room with his laptop balanced on his knees. He looks up at Jongin and offers him a thin smile that Jongin chooses to take as encouragement.

"I brought dinner," Jongin says, disappearing in the kitchen to retrieve the spoons. Chanyeol's waiting for him at the door when he returns.

"Hey," he mumbles, pulling Jongin in by the waist to bury his face in Jongin's shoulder. Jongin stiffens, spoons still in his right hand as he cradles the back of Chanyeol's head with his left.

"I'm sorry," Jongin whispers. He's said it a dozen times by now, but he still feels terrible.

Chanyeol draws a long breath. "I know," he says finally. "You didn't mean anything by it—Taemin didn't either." He sounds sulky, like he's reciting lines someone's prompting him to say. Like he's been practicing.

There's a knock at the door. Chanyeol pulls away from the embrace first to answer it, leaving Jongin in the doorframe, still clutching onto the spoons.

It's Taemin, looking sheepish. "Hyung," he says.

"What's up, Taemin?" Chanyeol asks. He sounds very, very tired all of a sudden, like the act of answering the door zapped him of all his energy.

"I—I'm sorry, I just really liked your song." He pushes a stack of paper CD sleeves into Chanyeol's hands. "That's all of them. And—Jongin's iPod."

Jongin walks into the living room just in time to catch Chanyeol nod. "I—thanks, Taemin." He sighs. "I'm flattered that you liked it, really, but I just—"

"I know," Taemin says, holding up his hand. "Jongin told me. I'll fix it."

"Might not be something you _can_ fix," Chanyeol says quietly. "But thanks anyway."

 

Jongin sits him down after that and feeds him spoonful after spoonful of chocolate ice cream until Chanyeol's clutching his face and moaning about brain freeze.

"That's just dumb, hyung," Jongin says, smearing a chocolaty thumb down Chanyeol's cheek. "You need a brain to freeze, first."

Chanyeol's eyes go wide as he fights back a smile. "So that's how you cheer me up, huh? Gee, Jongin. You're so good at this boyfriend stuff." A pause. "You know. It looked kind of cool today. Maybe," he admits gruffly.

"Mmm. Taemin's good at what he does."

"Taemin's a public menace."

"That too." Jongin leans in and kisses the ice cream from Chanyeol's cheek, lips pressing a sticky trail down Chanyeol's jaw.

"That's disgusting," Chanyeol says, but he doesn't make any move to pull away. Instead, he rests the bowl of his spoon on Jongin's nose and grins as it drops onto the carpet, splattering cream everywhere.

"Who's disgusting?" Jongin asks, and then there's a warm mouth on his nose, breath ghosting across his lips, a large pair of hands cradling his face.

"Still you," Chanyeol murmurs, and then, "I'm sorry for ditching you today. I love you."

Jongin holds onto Chanyeol's wrists and cranes his neck up until their foreheads are flush. "You too," he says, and then he can't say anything else because Chanyeol's kissing him too hard for words, the air in his lungs sizzling vacant.

 

Jongin rolls over sometime after midnight expecting to curl himself around Chanyeol and fall back asleep but there's nothing, just some crumpled sheets, a pillow hugged into two sections by a pair of sleepy arms long since removed.

He stumbles out into the living room still naked, wrapped in the comforter stolen off the bed. His hair's mussed and cowlicked from sleep, eyes half-lidded, narrowed at the corners against the bright blue light of Chanyeol's laptop. Chanyeol looks up when Jongin comes in and raises his eyebrows, brings his finger to his lips like there's a sleeping baby in the place.

"Go back to sleep," he whispers.

Jongin stumbles over a corner of the comforter caped around him, legs tangled, and nearly drops to his knees. Chanyeol puts his hands out to steady him.

"Jongin."

"Come with me," Jongin mumbles.

Chanyeol turns back to his laptop and nods absently. "In a minute. Go—wait for me, I'll be right in."

Jongin hinges his knees and drops to the carpet behind Chanyeol with a quiet thud, pulls the comforter around Chanyeol's body and locks his arms around Chanyeol's waist. "I'll wait here," Jongin mumbles into the fabric of Chanyeol's sleep shirt. "What are you working on that couldn't wait, anyway."

"I had some ideas. I—uh. For Taemin."

Jongin sits back a little, unsure if he'd heard correctly. "Taemin?"

"Yeah. I—uh. He worked really hard on that routine, and I just—took the music away, because I'm a dick—"

"—no, your _dad's_ a dick—"

"—so I'm going to. Um. Make it up to him." Chanyeol gestures at the laptop screen. "I'm going to give him the song back, but I'm. Uh. Giving him a couple more things to choose from, I guess."

Jongin goes quiet for a moment, the gears his sleep-addled brain whirring before everything clicks into place and he's hugging Chanyeol again, murmuring into the broad span of his shoulders: "That's a big step. I'm proud of you."

"Yeah, don't be too proud. I'm—not letting him use my name. Just the alias."

"Still."

"He's going to be sworn to secrecy."

Jongin makes a quiet noise of agreement, already drifting off again.

"You're alright if I kill him, right? If he messes up, I mean. I'll let him live if he keeps his mouth shut."

"If he messes up, you don't have to worry. _I'll_ kill him," Jongin says, the words heavy in his mouth. "Now come on, come back to bed with me."

Chanyeol reaches back and ruffles the back of Jongin's hair, fingertips slowing fondly at the nape of Jongin's neck. "Thanks," he says quietly. "Give me two minutes to get to a place where I can pick it up tomorrow and I'm all yours. I promise."

"You already are." Jongin knows when Chanyeol says two minutes when he's working on a song means more like twenty, so he presses his body into Chanyeol's back and lets the slow expansion of Chanyeol's rib cage lull him back to sleep.


End file.
